Shorty McCabe By Sewell Ford Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson  NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS |
Copyright, 1906, by Mitchell Kennerley.
SHORTY McCABE
Excuse me, mister man, but ain't you—Hello, yourself! Blamed if Ididn't think there was somethin' kind of natural about the looks, as youcome pikin' by. How're they runnin', eh?
Well say, I ain't seen you since we used to hit up the grammar schooltogether. You've seen me, eh? Oh, sure! I'd forgot. That was when youshowed up at the old Athletic club the night I got the belt away fromthe Kid. Doin' sportin' news then, wa'n't you? Chucked all that now, Is'pose?
Oh, I've kept track of you, all right. Every time I sees one of yourpieces in the magazines I reads it. And say, some of 'em's kind of punk.But then, you've got to sling out somethin' or other, I expect, or getoff the job. Where do you dig up all of them yarns, anyway? That's whatalways sticks me. You must knock around a whole bunch, and have lotshappen to you. Me? Ah, nothin' ever happens to me. Course, I'm generallyon the move, but it's just along the grub track, and that ain'texcitin'.
Yes, it's been a couple of years since I quit the ring. Why? Say, don'tever put that up to a has-been. It's almost as bad as compoundin' afelony. I could give you a whole raft of reasons that would sound well,but there's only one that covers the case. There's a knockout comin' tothe best of 'em, if they hang to the game long enough. Some ain'tsatisfied, even after two or three. I was. I got mine, clean and square,and I ain't ashamed of it. I didn't raise any holler about a chanceshot, and I didn't go exhibitin' myself on the stage. I slid into aquiet corner for a month or so, and then I dropped into the only thing Iknew how to do, trainin' comers to go against the champs. It ain't likepullin' down your sixty per cent of the gate receipts, but there's worsepayin' jobs.
Course, there's times when I finds myself up against it. It was durin'one of them squeezes, not so long ago, that I gets mixed up withLeonidas Dodge, and all that foolishness. Ah, it wa'n't anything worthwastin' breath over. You would? Honest? Well, it won't take long, Iguess.
You see, just as my wad looks like it had shrunk so that it would rattlearound in a napkin ring, someone passes me the word that Butterfly wasdown to win the third race, at 15